When in Sprohm
by classic rock lover
Summary: Thanks to an offended moogle, halfhuman jailer Georg is pulled out of his usual, even cosy routine and is forced to expose his darker past.


* * *

**INTRO: GEORG RAT**

When Sprohm was sleeping, and the prisoners quiet in their separate chamber of the jailhouse, Georg found himself wrapped in uncomfortable silence. He'd do anything to escape it, paperwork, letters, checking clan files, checking prisoner files, and all this would help him avoid the numbness of his midnight shift, but he knew it was all only a ploy...Georg Rat knew that the stillness would only prod him to search his memory, to go back in time to days he'd do anything to forget. He even had his own little mantra he'd repeat, when there was nothing to do but sit there at the desk; "I am not there, I am here. I am not what I was, but what I am..." and so on.

Georg Rat, who's depressing childhood was spent with his exiled family in Jagd Dorsa, saw himself as the underdog; the down-and-out Bangaa boy who'd grown up and secured a shining reputation (with the palace, anyway) as Sprohm's most reputed jailer. Others saw him as a pain, and Bangaa (even palace Bangaa) saw him as a traitor to their kind. Georg was the son of Camus Rat, a man who'd betrayed his entire, purely Bangaa clan by falling in love with a human woman. Camus Rat had been kicked out, exiled from Sprohm, and forced to live in a Jagd with his new wife.

"Hello?" a human boy stood before the desk, interrupting one of Georg's few memory dips.

"...I am not what I – Oh, greetingss. Thisss isss the jail, where...er, you know the ressst," said Georg, convincingly faking a hiss.

"I'd like to get a pardon," said the boy. Georg didn't recognize him, even though he could have sworn he'd seen the kid before; blond hair, blue eyes, light voice and build. He held out his clan file; Marche Radiuju, Clan Nutsy. There was a black mage in his clan who'd gotten a yellow card nearly two weeks ago. "A little overdue, don't you think?" mumbled Georg, who had been a witness to the consequences of criminal history. Marche shrugged. "We've been busy," he said with a sly smile. Georg squinted at him through his monocle, straining to remember the kid's face. "Well, sssend him in, it will be two engagementsss before hisss releasse," hissed Georg, and a bashful mage slouched in. It was obviously his first offense.

"Thank you," said Marche, and he and the mage shared a hushed conversation before they parted. Georg indicated one of the guards, and the mage was taken to the back chamber, trembling. Marche Radiuju took one last glance at the jailer before leaving with a moogle in a green coat.

Georg twitched. "What isss it, ssir?" asked the guard quietly. Georg thought of the guard as one of the only Bangaa in Sprohm sympathetic to his past. "That boy's eyes," Georg shared, losing the fake hiss, "his eyes were my mother's." The guard grunted, and stared straight ahead at the wall again, not paying attention to Georg, who occupied himself with new paperwork from Clan Nutsy.

-

Georg's human mother had blue eyes, eyes that haunted his earliest memory. She had thick, rough hands, the hands of a worker. She had small feet in proportion to her body. Georg's father loved her more than life itself. He'd risk his life in the Jagd, trying to find food and clothing for his family...Camus Rat was exiled, but not poor.

'_Hello, baby,' _Georg's mother would coo, with tears in her eyes.

Georg would gargle back.

'_I think I'll tell you a story while daddy's gone,' _decided Georg's mother, _'a story about a...hm, well, maybe not a princess...what stories would a mother tell to her son?'_

It was like that day after day. Georg didn't see much of his father, but his mother told him all about Camus Rat. After solely listening to only his human mother's voice, Georg grew up hiss-less.

"_Kupo_! Watch it!"

"Sorry, sir," mumbled Georg, and the moogle gave him a weird glance. No hiss, I've gotta stop that, Georg thought, I need to get back into the real world and stay out of my memories. Georg had run into people before, but was generally careful to avoid Moogles, since they took a grand offense to being stepped on."The usssual," Georg said to the grocer, as people noisily bustled by, and was handed a loaf of bread and a block of cheese. He paid the usual gil, and walked the usual road back to the jailhouse. If there was one thing Georg Rat was willing to embrace from his past, it was the cheese sandwiches. Just cheese and bread, nothing else. The sympathetic guard at the jailhouse would always take his lunchbreak with him, and they would eat the meal together, enjoying generally pleasant conversation, and that day, Georg was planning for that to happen again; it was the usual.

There was something very unusual about that day, though. And something unusual about who was following him, trailing softly behind, bent on revenge.


End file.
